


Service

by dragonofheaven07



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossdressing, Fingerfucking, M/M, Maids, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 20:54:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonofheaven07/pseuds/dragonofheaven07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick snags a new job at Wayne Manor. Nobody told him he’d have to deal with a persistent boss and jealous co-workers. All in a maid’s uniform.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Service

**Author's Note:**

> For the lovely st00pz~

“It could be worse. It could be a lot worse.”

Dick had to at least try, to hook a gig assisting that mysterious CEO, Bruce Wayne. And after a competitive interview process that drove him to his limits, physical, written test, field skills, he actually got the job.

Never in a millennia would he have guessed the billionaire, who donated to orphanages without fail every year and regularly attended relief effort trips, would have a maid kink. No wonder his private life was so heavily guarded from the public.

The dress, he was told, was hand-sewn especially for him: so short it barely reaches his fingertips, slits on sides, a midnight blue color. An apron is tied at his waist. Dick rolls the black knee-high stocking up his thigh, adjusts the straps of the garter belt. The garters, though he protested strongly, were mandatory, as were the pastel laced panties. 

Dick gives himself a look-over in the bathroom mirror. He pales, feels like he’s going to be sick. The pay was certainly worth it. With the Wayne name, people went places. 

“Just concentrate on the money. You can do this, Dick,” he kept repeating. “It could be worse.”

—

When Dick arrives that first day, five-thirty AM, almost on the dot, he’s greeted by an elderly gentleman. “Ah! Mister Grayson, you’re two minutes late. Not a very good way to start your employment,” he smiles. “Right this way.”

The man leads him into the enormous manor, down darkened twisting hallways with wide-eyed portraits that make Dick uneasy. “You may call me Alfred,” the man says, not turning around.

“Nice to meet you, Alfred,” Dick says warmly.

“Quite.”

Alfred guides him to what appears to be the kitchen, but it’s bigger than anything Dick has ever seen, large enough to host a cooking show, audience and all. “Take this.” The gentleman gives Dick a silver tray containing a plate of toast, a cup of steaming black coffee, orange juice, and the morning paper. “Bring this to Master Bruce’s bedroom. Fifth floor, seventh door on the right.”

Dick straightens his back. “Yes, sir.”

“You will speak only briefly to him, only when spoken to, and address him as ‘Master’. Do you understand?” Alfred says firmly.

Dick nods, says “Yes, sir,” again.

“Along the way, you might encounter some of our other working boys. Some are of the friendlier sort. Some will try to dishearten you. But don’t let any of them get into your head.” Alfred pats his shoulder. “Do I make myself clear?”

Dick smiles, “Crystal, sir.”

—

The elevator was, with Dick’s luck, out of order, so he has to take the winding trek up the staircase.

On the third floor, he pauses when he spies another boy. Pretty, maybe a few years younger than him, leaning over and dusting a sculpture, ass wiggling in the air. He’s wearing an identical maid uniform, only in red. “Hi, there,” Dick almost waves, but remembers quickly that he’s holding the tray.

The other boy glances up at the voice, his face blank. “Oh. Did Master hire another of us so soon?” he says, monotone.

“I suppose,” Dick laughs nervously. “You can call me Dick. What’s your name?”

“Tim,” the boy replies, shifting back to his work on the sculpture.

“I should be going. See you around, Tim?” Dick says, resuming up the stairs.

“Guess I will, then,” Tim says. “Or not.”

—

Dick’s legs feel like jelly, and his arms might fall off, but he manages to make it to the fifth floor in one piece. He strides the corridor, counting doors on the right side when he gets to the seventh one.

It’s already open a crack. “Um, excuse me? Master Wayne?” Dick slides it further, revealing the king-sized bed dominating the room. A man is sleeping in it, the white covers consuming him.

Someone else is there, too. Another maid outfit, a mauve one. Its wearer is his age, tall, sinewy body. He’s knelt beside the bed, and stroking the sleeping man’s hair, tender, loving. “What the hell are you doing here?” the other maid glares at Dick for interrupting. “Never seen you before.”

“I-I’m just b-bringing the Master his breakfast,” Dick stammers, suddenly flustered. “I just started today. I’m Dick.”

“Dick?” he snickers. The maid clasps a hand over his mouth to control laughter.

“Oh, that’s precious! I bet the Master will get a kick out of that.” He stands, gets in close to Dick’s face, their noses an inch apart. “Let’s get one thing straight, Dickie. Bruce is off-limits, you hear me?”

Dick’s bites his lip, fearful for his life. “Yes, sir.”

“Good boy.” The maid turns to leave. “Make sure he eats that soon. Master hates cold toast.”

“W-Wait! What’s your name?” Dick calls after him.

The maid mutters “Jason”, and he walks out into the long hall, his shoes clattering against the polished wood floors.

Dick shudders, like a storm just passed though, and he’s reminded of the weight of the silver tray. He couldn’t let the food get cold. Hurriedly, Dick pads to the bedside. He places the tray on the nightstand, and he lets out a sigh as his arms regain feeling. He peeks at the man in the bed, still fast asleep.

So this was Bruce Wayne, his new Master. He was…different than what Dick had imagined, unlike the stiff photos taken by the press. In his early thirties, short raven hair, a strong jawline. He was muscular too, body builder status, always hidden away by his fancy suits. He’s beautiful, truly beautiful.

“M-Master Bruce?” Dick leans down, shakes his shoulder. “Sir?”

Blue eyes open slowly and Dick’s heart flutters. “Hmm?” Bruce groans.

“G-Good morning, Master,” Dick bows. “B-Breakfast is—umf!”

Dick’s face is pulled down, and their lips meet. He tastes alcohol on Bruce’s tongue as it presses his teeth and gains access to his mouth. A hand pets under his dress, scrapes the panties, and Dick breaks the kiss, panting.

“Good morning,” Bruce says, sitting up. “Your name is Dick, correct?”

“Y-Yes, Master,” Dick flushes, smoothing the dress over his bottom.

“I expect some good things from you today. Good things.” The Master smiles slyly.

“I hired you for a reason, Dick. Don’t disappoint me.”

Dick, cheeks still blazing, curtseys. “Yes, Master Bruce.”

—

The day was growing on Dick as if it would never end. It’s a lot of work keeping the immense estate orderly, and he’s already dreaming of his bed when noon comes to a close. Alfred fed him the code of conduct and tidbits of advice as he went: how to properly clean the chandeliers, where the flower buds were kept.

Tim seemed to evade him, despite Dick waving to him in the gardens and the kitchen. Jason, who Dick wanted to avoid, thankfully ignored him as well whenever they crossed each other.

As the grandfather clock chimed one, all the maids of the household gathered to their Master’s study. They line up in a semi-circle, arms at their sides, backs straight. Bruce sat cross-legged on the leather chair, open book in hand. “Are we missing someone?”

The door slams and Dick runs into the room. He gets in the line, adjusting his collar. “S-Sorry, got lost,” he says, exasperated. “Bad directions.”

A blonde girl in purple and a dark-haired girl in black giggle discreetly. Another girl, a red-head, gives him a pitiful look. Tim successfully holds his laughter, while Jason chuckles next to him.

“Dick, this better not be a habit of yours,” Bruce frowns. “I’ll let it slide this once.”

“T-Thank you, Master. Sorry,” Dick hangs his head.

“Now, that everyone is accounted for, it’s time for me to choice,” Bruce rubs his hands. “Which one of you should I pick to serve tea?”

The group is silent, enough to hear a pin drop as Bruce eyes them over. “Tim. Baby, it’s your turn today.”

Tim’s face lights up and he happily retrieves the tea set from the kitchen. As he nears his Master, a foot sticks out in his path. He braces himself to hit the ground, tray and all with a loud crash, and he squeezes his eyes.

But the crash doesn’t come, and there’s an arm that’s supporting him, another with the caught tray. Not a drop spilled. “Are you alright?” Dick asks, worried.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Tim responds, more like a squeak. He tries to move his ankle, and winces. “Fine.”

Bruce claps, grinning. “Bravo, Dick! Babs, Steph, Cass, you girls take Tim to get bandaged up. Jay?” He shoots Jason a hard stare. “We’ll discuss this later.”

Dick watches as his fellow maids clear the study, Tim hobbling against the blonde girl. Jason is the last to leave, growling at Dick before he exits.

“As for you Dick,” Bruce gestures to the tray. “I’d like you to serve my tea. Think you can handle that?”

Dick smiles bright, curtseys. “Yes, Master.” He takes the teapot, careful of the top, and pours the hot tea into Bruce’s cup. He’s shaking a little with Bruce’s gaze on him, his body still reeling from the after-effects of the kiss.

“Very diligent, focused.”

His breathing hitches as fingers trail his neck. They tuck a stray hair over his ear.  
“I like that in a young man.”

Oh, god.

The cup is filled and Dick sets the teapot to the tray with an audible rattle. Bruce lifts his chin. “Do you remember how I take my tea, pet?” he asks, their eyes locking.

“O-One sugar,” Dick gulps.

“Good memory, baby.”

Dick measures the spoon, tapping it gently to make the surface even. He mixes the sugar until it’s completely dissolved. “You’re a natural,” Bruce tells him.

“I…n-no, I’ve never done this before.” Dick’s heating up, and he can’t stop it.

Bruce takes the cup, sips with Dick waiting in anticipation. “Delicious.”

“Thank you, Master,” Dick bows.

“I’ve always loved having a companion during teatime. Makes everything more enjoyable.” Bruce rests into the chair. “Dick, honey, I want you to touch yourself.”

That couldn’t be what he just said, no way. “Master Bruce? You want me too—?”

“I want to see those pretty hands roaming all over your body.” Bruce’s voice is low, rough.

Dick can’t turn down an order. “U-Uh…y-yes, Master.” He closes his eyes, breathes deep, and his mind wanders. He has his hands travel the delicate blue of his front, very slow. He swirls his fingertips around his nipples, and they peak beneath the fabric. He glides over his stomach, then onto the space between his legs, his breathing labored.

“You’re doing such a good job,” Bruce says, picking up the cup again. “Keep going.”

One hand continues lower, reaching under the dress and brushing the ribbons on the panties. It searches, pulls out his wet cock. The other hand goes back up and cups his pectoral. Dick’s fingers catch the nipple, tweaking it. He strokes to the rhythm as his cock is pumped, sweat beginning to prickle his skin.

“Beautiful, baby.” An amused grin is flickering on Bruce’s lips, his lust spiking.  
“Just…f-for you, Master.” Dick’s movements increase in speed, he’s rocking his body into his touch, so close, oh so close.

“That’s enough.” Bruce grabs Dick’s arms, tight. “It’s my turn to play.” The older man feels inside the back of the sticky panties. “Lovely back here, too,” he chuckles, groping his ass.

“M-Master…!” Dick clings to Bruce’s shirt. His cock is leaking, curling onto his stomach, tortuously painful. “Need to…please, I need to—ah!”

Dick cries as a finger probes inside him. “First time like this, right? I’ll go slowly, for today.” The finger explores Dick’s softness, widens the hole enough for another to join.

“Please, please, let me come, Master, please,” Dick chants, body seizing at the penetration, gasping for air.

Bruce massages his cock, fluid overflowing. “I want you to come, Dick. Right now.”

And Dick spasms hard, he contorts, and with a strangled scream he’s coming in Bruce’s hand. When it’s over, Dick’s exhausted; he can barely stand as he lolls back and forth on his heels.

Bruce wipes the splotches on Dick’s dress with his apron, clears the streaked hair from his face. “You did very well today, Dick. Very well, indeed.”

Dick sluggishly nods, smiles before he collapses in Bruce’s arms.

“Thank you, Master.”


End file.
